Miguel pointed out to them four night-clubs that he recommended, but their fronts were ill-lit and no one was going into any of them. De Quesnoy remarked on this, and their guide said in surprise:
'But, Excellency, it is barely half past eleven. They do not open till midnight and do not really warm up until about two o'clock when people go on to them from the theatre.'
On his visits to Spain the Count had had no occasion to visit a night-club, but he had been to several theatres and recalling that, owing to the very late hours at which the Spanish upper class dined, they did not begin until eleven o'clock, he felt he should have realized that the dance places would not put on their cabarets until still later. To Miguel he said,
'As we do not intend to patronize any of them tonight their not yet being open makes no difference to us. We would like now to look at the ships in the port and drive round the harbour district.'
The driver was duly instructed and turned his carriage in a south-easterly direction. Then Miguel, with new hope in his voice, said, 'Down there is the house where you can see the magic lantern slides. It is owned by a friend of mine, a most respectable lady. The show, of course, could be put on specially for you in private so, if you did not wish you need not mix with other people who might be there. It will cost you only . .
'Thank you,' de Quesnoy cut him short. 'We are not interested in magic lantern slides, curious or otherwise. What we do wish to see is how the people of Cadiz amuse themselves at night; so take us, please, to the centre of the locality in which lie the less expensive dance-halls and bars.'
Miguel then had them driven to a Plaza approached from the landward side by three broad avenues all leading up to the palace of the Civil Governor, beyond which lay the docks and harbour. Turning right, out of the Plaza, they entered a maze of narrow streets that evidently formed part of the old city. Here there were so many sauntering couples and groups of men arguing on street corners that the carriage had to proceed at a walk; but that suited de Quesnoy, as it gave him time to ask the names of the streets through which they had passed and make a mental note of the places of entertainment that seemed to be doing most business.
In the poorer quarter night-life was already in full swing. Rows and arches of flaring gas-jets, designed to attract custom, enabled passers-by to see into steamy eating-houses and crowded bars. In a few of the larger cafes girls, tightly swathed in colourful long-fringed silk shawls, were dancing between the tables; while in every street some melody, either plaintive or gay, came to the ear as its notes were plucked out from mandolin or guitar.
To Miguel's frustration, the Count had the carriage driven to and fro through the same half-dozen streets for over an hour while steadfastly refusing even to stop and take a glass of wine anywhere; but when they finally returned to the Atlantico, about half past one in the morning, he was dismissed with a bigger tip than he had expected.
The following day they spent a lazy morning and it was not until after lunch that de Quesnoy discussed his plan in greater detail with La Torcera. He told her then that he wished her to play the part of a semi-blind beggar woman. In every Spanish city there were a legion of poor wretches, mostly cripples, who depended for their meagre livelihood on the coppers they could collect from the charitable. In consequence, pests though they were with their whining interruptions of conversations, there were very few cafes and even restaurants that they were not allowed to enter. His idea was that in this guise La Torcera should make the round of the places they had marked down the previous night in the hope of finding the one in which Inez Giudice plied her trade; and that if she succeeded Inez would remain in ignorance that she had been traced, because the hooded robe and eye-shade would prevent her from recognizing her erstwhile rival.
They filled in the afternoon with a drive right round the sea front that almost entirely encircled the city; then, when the shops reopened after the siesta, they bought a gross of matches, several dozen bootlaces, and a small tray that could be hung from the neck by a strap, so that La Torcera could hawk these wares for which it was customary to give beggars five to ten times their proper value.
That evening, after they had dined in their private sitting-room, the Count gave to La Torcera the eye-shade and the stick he had bought for her to tap her way about with, and they had a dress rehearsal. The gipsy dancer proved clever enough with her makeup to give the lower part of her face, which could still be seen beneath the shade, the appearance of that of a somewhat older woman, and when she tapped her way round the room with hunched shoulders and bent back de Quesnoy congratulated her on her performance.
At half past ten, while most of the hotel guests were still dining, he escorted her downstairs, wished her luck and saw her off into the warm darkness. He then had a word with the head hall-porter and told him a little story to* ensure that La Torcera should meet with no difficulty about getting in on her return.
He said that the relative with whom he was sharing his suite was deeply religious and most charitable. Sometimes for several nights in succession she felt the urge to go off on her own and distribute money to the poor, but obviously she could not do so without fear of running into trouble if she went out dressed in her normal fashion. She therefore disguised herself as a beggar-woman and gave away boxes of matches to the destitute, in which they later found not matches but money. He then gave the head porter a handsome tip to pass these particulars on to the night porter.
It annoyed him that he could not participate in the search for Inez and Sanchez; but he would not have known the girl even had he come face to face with her, and to do that with Sanchez was the last thing he wanted, as he would then have been deprived of any chance of taking his enemy by surprise. It was to avoid any risk of doing so that he had elected to stay at the most luxurious hotel in Cadiz, as he and La Torcera could live there without any likelihood of its coming to Sanchez's ears that they were in the city.
He whiled away the next two hours by listening to a concert in the lounge, then went upstairs, changed into a dressing-gown, and did his best to concentrate on a novel by Blasco Ibanez until La Torcera got back.
She returned about half past two, to report that she had had no luck. From eleven till one o'clock she had peddled her matches and bootlaces in the bistros and dance-halls down by the harbour, and had then moved on to the better-class clubs, at four of which, after tipping their doormen to let her in, she had had a good look round. De Quesnoy was naturally disappointed, although he knew that to expect success in such a quest at the first attempt had really been too much to hope for.
He had already found that he and La Torcera had so little in common that there were few subjects on which they could talk with mutual interest. Since, too, he was both rich and handsome she had, not unnaturally, soon had visions of herself living permanently in clover, so indicated very clearly that she was quite ready to become his mistress; but he had promptly, though courteously, poured cold water on her ambitions in that direction. Recognizing that the only bond between them lay in their common desire to run Sanchez and Inez to earth, he felt no scruples next day at leaving her with a pile of picture papers, revelling in the -for her - unusual luxury of her surroundings, while he went out on his own.
Restrained by caution from going into the main streets of the city, just in case he was seen by Sanchez, he remained in its wealthy residential quarter, in the morning amusing himself by shooting clay pigeons, ejected by a machine for him over the sea-wall, and in the evening taking a long stroll in the Parque Genoves.
That night they followed the same routine as they had on the previous one, but again La Torcera had no luck.
Next morning de Quesnoy paid another visit to the park and sat there for quite a time considering the situation. It was now October the 3rd, so six days since Sanchez had taken that incriminating photograph in San Sebastian. If it had been his intention to return to Cadiz he could easily have reached the city, even by slow trains, three days ago. The inference that he had, had been drawn only from the fact that his latest woman, Inez Giudice, was a native of Cadiz. On leaving Granada he might quite well have gone off with her elsewhere. If so, for the time being there was no possible means of tracing them.
However, the Count reasoned, six days having elapsed, by now Sanchez should have made an attempt to exert some form of blackmail through the photograph. Allowing two days for him to reach the place where he meant to go to earth, a third for a letter from him to reach San Sebastian, a fourth for Gulia to send it on to Granada and a fifth for the hall-porter to forward it on to him in Cadiz, it should have arrived that morning. As that schedule made no allowance for delays, de Quesnoy felt it might easily be another couple of days before Sanchez's ultimatum reached him.
When it did, the advantage would lie with the enemy, as there could no longer be any hope of taking him by surprise. To stand any chance of getting hold Of that damnable photograph he, de Quesnoy, would have to walk into whatever trap Sanchez might set for him. It was a gloomy prospect; but there was still a chance that Sanchez might be in Cadiz, or that Inez might be found and bribed or forced to give information as to his whereabouts; so there must be no relaxing the search for them until the letter turned up to provide a definite, if dangerous, new
